The Xiaolin Effect
by val'tanelle
Summary: At the final battle, Aang lost & died. However, his will allowed Katara and Zuko to flee to the future and train the next Avatar. Hope is still but a dream as the broken Avatar cycle is going to make it hard WHO the Avatar is... XiaolinxAvatar NOT RxKat


**The Xiaolin Effect  
By Himig**

**Summary:** At the final battle, Aang lost & died. However, his will allowed Katara and Zuko to flee to the future and train the next Avatar. Hope is still but a dream as the broken Avatar cycle is going to make it hard WHO the Avatar is and with what method Aang used to get them there...

**Author's Note:** Well, I was pretty bored/drained about my current fandom, so I went back and did this xD There aren't many, either, so, here it is! Whopee?

**Warning:** Uh, no promise of updates?

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**The Xiaolin Effect**

the two spirits

* * *

It had been another tiring day for the old, pale man. The four-cornered room was dark and unlighted, but his slouching figure on his humble bed could be recognized. He massaged his tired forehead wearily, quite aware of the wrinkles adding up each day. The only noise that could be heard was the wind tickling the hanging half of the broken window.

The children had once again decided to play "Hogmonkey in the middle" coincidentally just outside his room. They reasoned that they didn't want to end up breaking their _own_ windows and sleep freezing to death.

He didn't complain, but for fifty years he's been dealing with the children, despite his old age he was infected with a parental disease and thus had claimed the right to complain. He frowned, sighed, growled, and everything he didn't quite remember ever doing. They said the lamest excuses, the most unreasonable reason, and the craziest of things. They shouted and screamed, and argued over things. He was always needed, always there to scold them and teach them their everyday lesson. It was mentally and physically exhausting and draining.

Every night in a tired sleep and a stressed morning, he would think of trading the fifty year of experience in his selfish desires and wants. He hadn't had those ever since the Fire Nation won the war. No, in fact, he hadn't had those ever since he got his own pair of slippers. Love could not after all feed or shelter. He'd trade this charity work of taking care of orphans from the different nations for something more useful for his personal survival.

He thought of that but always came to one decisive resolution: he probably wouldn't.

The children bickered endlessly and would give him pebbles they deem containing magical properties for his birthday, or a mutated drawing of him carved on the ground. They were ugly, useless, and dirty.

The old man loved each of them, and he meant it by heart.

And it hurt him, simply hurt him, to see hope dwindling despite the little satisfaction of joy they desire. Peace was threatened every time a soldier trekked down their gates and knocked on the large wooden doors of the orphanage. The orphanage was accused of treachery with the Order of the White Lotus and they were building an army to go against the Fire Empire.

This made the old man extremely nervous, because the accusation was true – that is, with the former. While he was no longer a member of the Order, they often receive supplies and help from them. But for Aang's sake, they weren't building an army! Yes, he was an 'old master', though a non-bender, but he was, bluntly, _old_. He was an old man helping these children live in these harsh times...

Fifty years was just half the wait his ancestors waited for the Avatar. Now, he was dead and the Fire Empire have declared that the cycle has been destroyed: there is no Avatar. For the uneducated and uninformed – the vast majority, this was a harsh truth that blew their hope away. For those who knew like him, the Fire Empire was only bluffing – they knew not who, where, and what the Avatar could be. There is still hope. Until that hope comes, he will make it so that the children will survive.

The old man drifted in his sleep, his last thought of the specific orphan named Omi, who he had taught personally and privately about martial arts. He was an intelligent child, Omi. Perhaps it was the the source for the accusation of building an army. Sadly, he must break the news that it must stop. He could just see the crestfallen look on the boy's face...

Soon in the old man's mind, a dream swirled in his thoughts. He breathed heavily and found himself opened his eyes. He was in a swamp and knew nothing of the dream. He could feel something real about every touch and power emitting from every object and organism. There was a misty fog across the air that made it easy to spot shadows at a distance

The old man was cautious. Nature was living and abundant. Trees were overgrown and highly populated. Their leaves and branched stooped and bended low to curtain or cover. It was indeed quite strange. Power was just beating from these trees, and also in the air and water.

Something in his lungs caught his attention. He couldn't breathe but made no expression of panic. He found no reason to breathe. He simply existed like an observer, completely out-of-place and foreign.

Just then, the old man heard hushed voices. He could understand them. Despite his old age, his hearing was quite sharp after relentless sneaky children brewing trouble in the orphanage. The old man neared them and decided secrecy wasn't the best option in meeting the two strangers.

He went around a group of trees lumped together and gasped at the two ghostly figures, young adolescents for that matter. His action didn't go unnoticed as the two stopped and glanced at the old man. They looked equally surprised, but the master was now stunned. They were perhaps ancient spirits! They wore old nation-specific clothes and he tried to hide the pain that entered his old heart at this nostalgic sight.

"Who are you?" the young man in the two asked. His voice was not devoid of suspicion and at the same, curiosity.

"I am Master Fung, spirits," he replied politely, crossing his arms and bowing deep.

"Spirits?" the young woman, this time, said in wonder. "Erm, we're not really spirits...living around here anyway."

Master Fung straightened and blinked. "Then why are the two of you transparent and bathed in blue light?"

The two exchanged a glance.

"Old ma—er, Master Fung, you are, too," the young man said. He pointed at him.

Master Fung inspected his arms and indeed saw that he himself was just like them.

The old man laughed. "Haha, I didn't notice...now tell me, what is this place?" he asked. His voice instantly went to business. Surely, this wasn't just a dream, as much as his sane part said so otherwise.

"You mean you don't know?" the young man asked incredulously.

"Exactly, young one," Master Fung answered, unable to hold back a scathing voice.

The young man frowned at the sarcasm. "How did you get here?"

"Exactly how, I do not know, but I was—and I believe, until now, _am_ asleep."

"So you're dreaming?" the young woman said.

"Is this a dream?"

"I wish," she answered bitterly. "When do you want to hear the bad news? While you're still asleep or when you get woken up by the next attack?"

Master Fung's lips had gone dry. Bad news? "What are you talking about?"

"The Avatar is dead," the young man said. Master Fung had then noticed a burn on the boy's left face. It had been difficult to spot with their current form.

"I see...how did...the Avatar die?" he asked quietly.

The two of them fell silent and, Master Fung observed, remorse.

"We don't know," she answered in a whisper.

Master Fung shook his head. "Ah...the Fire Empire had not been bluffing, after all..."

It was at this the two were shook from their sadness.

"Fire _Empire_?" the young man parroted. He coughed. "Who are you, old man?!"

"I don't quite understand what my identity is has to do with a name," Master Fung said innocently.

The girl looked thoughtful and cautious. "Erm...are you a...Fire Nation fanatic?"

"Teacups, no. Certainly not, my dear."

"Then why are you calling the Nation that killed the Avatar an Empire?" the young man egged. "You're saying as if they've taken over the world already!"

"But they have." Master Fung's eyes widened that he fidgeted nervously. "Who are you two?"

"Katara," the girl quickly answered as she waited for a sign of recognition.

"Sokka's sister?" he asked in wide, beady eyes.

"You know my brother?" she gaped.

"Yes, he's leader of the OWL."

Before Katara could ask what it meant, the boy shot up in recognition. "The Order of White Lotus?"

"Yes," Master Fung nodded, his mind having reached a possibility of where he was.

"My _brother_? He-he's not even part of it! I don't know...but..."

"Does Zuko ring a bell to you?" the young man questioned.

Master Fung nodded. "Yes, of course. Sokka have spoken of you. The exiled prince, former villain, but one of the heroes who fought and died well in—"

"DIED?" the two exclaimed loudly.

"We didn't die!" Katara shrieked, but she was dubious. She gave Zuko a look. "We-we're not _really_ dead, are we?"

"What do you mean, 'we'? He meant _me_!"

Master Fung cleared his throat. "No, actually, you _both_ died."

Katara and Zuko's bickering died. Their jaws drop and a tense silence overwhelmed the spirit world.

Zuko shook his head furiously. "We're _not_ dead."

Katara was pale, despite being, technically, blue and transparent. "Zuko, we're spirits..."

"No, we're not dead. Look, did you _die_? Did Azula shot you with lightning or were you captured and starved to death? No, I don't think so, neither was I. You're jumping to conclusions."

"You're right..." Katara said more to herself, feeling her mind returning to normal. "Then what does Master Fung mean?"

"It means," Zuko stressed, glancing at the old man. "The real world thinks we're dead but we're really not."

"I believe this is the spirit world," Master Fung interrupted. "Right now, I am asleep in my bed, safe and sound. Are you two sure your bodies are not lying sprawled on the cold floor?"

This point beckoned another silence. This time, a defeated Zuko covered his face with his palm.

"...we're dead."

Katara shivered evidently. "We have to trust Aang...time goes differently, ri-right? Well, let's think. Um, Master Fung, how long have we been...'dead'?"

"Fifty years, my dear."

"Oh fishtai—"

"FIFTY YEARS?" Zuko bellowed. "Fifty...how is this even possible?"

"Has the Avatar reincarnated yet?"

"No," Master Fung said. "Though you said so yourself—the Avatar is dead. Though I believe you were referring to the...previous Avatar. Avatar Aang, I presume?"

"Yes, Aang." Katara curled her lips, her eyes near to tears. Zuko returned to his senses. Katara did not lose hers. "This must be a message from Aang...maybe this isn't a coincidence...Master Fung, you're from the future...or rather, we're from the past."

"And we're not giving up hope," Zuko added, sighing heavily. "We'd tell you anything—help you in anyway so you could help the Avatar in your time."

"We don't know if we're stuck in the spirit world, or if we'll wake up in the real world...hopefully alive, but we'll do what we can."

Master Fung peered at each of them calculatingly. He unconsciously toyed with his mustache and sighed wearily. "Leaving an old man with a responsibility...oh, don't worry, young ones. I haven't given up hope, either." He smiled to them, and they returned it with a bit joy and hope, but that was the last he had seen before waking up with the usual noise of the children.


End file.
